As the deadly infection spreads, enveloping the world in suffocating despair, you are forced to endure the new horrific reality alone. An unexpected encounter with an enigmatic stranger changes everything. Your first meeting with him almost ended in...
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When you finally arrive home, it's empty. Darkness shrouds the hallways and the cold creeps across the floor. Every time you leave, you harbour a small glimmer of hope that upon your return, your mother, and brother will miraculously appear. But each time you open the front door and step inside, your heart sinks as the stark emptiness greets you. The only reminders of your family are the pictures that adorn the walls of the living room.
Simon insists on a thorough inspection of every inch of the house before allowing any decrease in vigilance. He moves from room to room, scanning each corner for any signs of intrusion, no matter how unlikely. Meanwhile, you stand idly by. Your body is devoid of energy, and your mind is too overwhelmed to partake in this tiresome task. You are certain that nobody could have sneaked inside. The first-floor windows are barricaded with wooden planks and miscellaneous items from the shed. Both the back and front doors always remain locked. Unless the dead have developed not only an insatiable hunger for human flesh, but also superhuman strength, there's no plausible way they can breach these walls.
"You're sleeping here tonight," you say, catching Simon off guard as he steps into the living room. The room is bathed in the soft, warm glow of a few candles that cut through the evening's darkness. You've prepared a makeshift bed for him on the couch, complete with clean sheets and a comfortable pillow. The ensuing silence is heavy, broken only by the faint crackling of the candles. After a long pause, you speak again. "I expect you to be gone in a few days," you add, your voice steady and firm, leaving no room for negotiation.
Simon remains silent, nodding his head in response. His expression is unreadable. As you continue to linger in the room, both of you enter a silent, staring contest. It lasts for a few tension-filled seconds. Eventually, he raises his hand, peels off his skull mask, and lets the black fabric fall onto the coffee table. If you had harboured any thoughts that he hides his face because he is some monstrous creature, you are mistaken. Beneath the dirt and grime, there's an undeniable rugged charm. His brown eyes, dulled by filth, command your attention. His dirty blond hair is short and clipped. You assume he probably uses his knife for more than just stabbing biters.
Although you stand on the other side of the couch, you can't help but notice a small scar. It cuts through his lips as he clicks his tongue. At first, he seems to tolerate your scrutiny, assuming you'll lose interest and look away. Yet, you find it impossible to divert your gaze. Your eyes continue to study his face, mapping out each scar and wrinkle. He turns around, grabs his duffel bag, and sits on the couch.
Your first night sharing the house with Simon is a strange experience. Sleep eludes you because your senses are heightened and thrown into overdrive. You find yourself caught in the grip of restlessness, pacing the confines of your bedroom like a caged bird. You make a half-hearted attempt to coax yourself into sleep, but you can't keep your eyes closed for long. The ghostly echo of Simon's footsteps downstairs serves as a constant reminder of his presence. He has saved you twice now. Yet the fear gnawing at the core of your heart warns you that if you let your guard down, if you allow yourself to feel safe around him, he might seize the opportunity to creep up on you and do something vile.
